Demon Child and Spoiled Brat
by LoverOfAllThingsLegolas
Summary: Yes, here it is, the TRUE story, which tells the way Hansel and Gretel REALLY were. Now, you can't blame their parents for wanting to get rid of them. And you can't blame me for their terrible punishments... -evil laughter-
1. Pity The Parents

A/n: Yeah this is based on the Hansel and Gretel story, from a new perspective. And yes, I use the name of The-Show-Which-Must-Not-Be-Named, which thank God is now over so my friends are getting on with their lives. Anyway, hope ya like my sad little story! And whether u like it or hate its guts, pleeease r/r!!  
  
CHAPTER ONE - In Which Two Overly Exasperated Parents Concoct A Somewhat Evil But Completely Necessary Plan  
  
One dark, cold night, a mother and father sat next the fireplace and sighed.  
  
The mother and father were covered in food remains, from watermelon seeds to spaghetti noodles to chocolate sauce. They had huge circles under their eyes and looked as though they had not slept for years (nine and a half years, to be exact).  
  
From the upper level of their house, shrieks, bangs, and the occasional splintering glass could be heard. The parents stared at each other for a moment, the father with a sorrowful stare and the mother with a cruel one, then gazed back into the fireplace as if the cheerful orange flames could solve their problems.  
  
They couldn't.  
  
The parents sighed again, even deeper this time.  
  
"Where did we go wrong?" moaned the father, suddenly dropping his bedraggled head into his hands.  
  
"I think it really started to get bad when you bought them their own pools. Or maybe when you got the two walk-in refrigerators. Maybe it could have been when you hired them personal cooks and tailors. Or when-"  
  
"ALRIGHT!" whined the father. "I get the point. But I never meant to spoil them. I just wanted to let them experience the happy childhood that I never got."  
  
"AND ENCOURAGED THEM TO MILK US FOR ALL WE'RE WORTH!!" bellowed the mother. She had reached her full anger point now, and there was no shutting her up. "LOOK AT US!! WE GO AROUND IN FEED SACKS, EATING DUST FROM INSIDE THE VACUUM, WHILE THEY WEAR SILKS AND FURS AND SNEER AT CAVIAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"  
  
The father stared at her in a shocked silence. "Have you been watching reality TV again?" The mother looked sheepish. "Because I TOLD you that you get WAY too dramatic and WAY too whiny and WAY too scary and that stuff just ROTS your BRAIN and before you even KNOW it"- But she cut into his lecture on the evils of realistic television (yes, that lecture was also to all you readers out there who watch reality TV as well! Stop now! Your mind is slowly evaporating! You known who you are....).  
  
Anyways, the mother cut into this well-deserved speech as a resounding crash sounded just outside the kitchen door. "Well, there's no chance of my watching a n y m o r e, because our TV was just tossed out the 3rd-story window..." she said.  
  
The father sank to his knees, howling, "Noooooooooooo!! American Idol is on tonight!!!"  
  
She gave him a dagger-filled glare.  
  
"Um, ahem." The father tried to recompose himself. "I just like watching Simon insult people! Honest!"  
  
The mother gave him another withering glance, but slunk to the floor. "Oh, I don't feel like fighting with you tonight. I just want to get away from those spawn of satan that are currently destroying the 3rd floor."  
  
The father looked confused. ". I thought they were children."  
  
This caused the mother to ask the ceiling, "What did I do to deserve this?", and the father to gaze mournfully out the window as his karaoke machine hit the ground and splintered into a quadrillion pieces of glittery plastic. He let out a small sob.  
  
At the sound, the mother suddenly straightened. She stared ahead with new steely eyes that sparkled evilly in the firelight.  
  
The father shivered. The flames of damnation dancing in her eyes weren't exactly the most comforting sight. All he wanted to do was go outside and gather the remnants of his beloved karaoke machine in his arms, then carry them off into the woods until he found a suitable grave space..  
  
She interrupted his wistful thoughts. "I have a plan."  
  
The father smiled. Maybe she knew where there was a cemetery!!  
  
"Stop those foolish karaoke thoughts! We're going to get rid of those brats once and for all.."  
  
"But I don't REALLY want to get rid of them..." sighed the father.  
  
At that moment, a young boy appeared at the foot of the stairs. He was v. angelic, with golden locks of hair that fell over his bright blue eyes. His mouth had a hint of a smile about it, and his cute little nose twitched like a baby rabbit's.  
  
Suddenly, the smile turned to a horrible sneer, the eyes gleamed viciously, and he let out a terrible cry that reminded the father of one particularly dreadful contestant on A.I. Before the father could form another thought in his tired brain, the boy shot through the kitchen, taking a direct route though the poor man's stomach. He let out an emourmous "Ooooph!!" as the boy barreled into him, then ran back up the stairs from which he had just descended.  
  
As the father lay on the floor and tried to remember how to breathe, a distant cry echoed down the stairs: "TOLD ya, Gretel! I told ya I could knock the old pig over!"  
  
The mother peered down at her husband, who lay gasping on the floor.  
  
And his last words, before he reached blissful unconsciousness, where his karaoke machine was shiny and beautiful and he was the new American Idol and children did not exist, were, "Tomorrow."  
  
The mother smiled, then went to the telephone and dialed 1-800-RENT-A- WITCH.  
  
*sorry if this chapter seems too sadistic!! I am highly sleep-deprived!! If you r/r, I will write the next chronicle in the lives of the evil children Hansel and Gretel! 


	2. At An Odious Office

A/n : Okay, I wrote this as part of the next chapter a loooong time ago..was v. tired when I wrote it.is v. short.is v. bad ....but I have to post something since I am such a procrastinator and won't get a chance again for a while! Sorry for the inconvenience!! Next chapter will knock your socks off (if you're wearing socks). Disclaimer: All West-Side-Story-related music (I Feel Pretty) belongs not to me, but to a composer whose name I forget.  
  
CHAPTER TWO - In Which Readers Experience Bad Grammar And Punctuation In A Boring Office Waiting Room And Fall Asleep At Their Computer Monitors Due To The Author's Extreme Rambling  
  
Sylvia snapped her bubble gum and let out a loooong, booooored sigh.  
  
She was sitting behind the check-in counter of a v. large but v. empty beige waiting room, with her eyes glazing over and her mind falling asleep. Of course, there were no customers. This was the office of Rent-A-Witch (as seen on TV!), but it had seen better times. Malevolent witches just weren't needed anymore - these days, regular people needed no help in carrying out evil deeds (such as mainstream television and Abercrombie and Fitch stores).  
  
So poor little unimaginative Sylvia was bored to tears...she had already re- read last year's collection of "Wicked Weekly" magazines, called her mother, sister, and great-great aunt twice removed, and painted her nails...fifteen times.  
  
Sylvia protested against this assessment of her uselessness.  
  
"But this shade is so gorgeous! Just saw it in this month's CosmoWitch...I think it's so cute, my boyfriend will just love it I know because I said to him this morning, I said"  
  
The narrator ignored this babbling and gazed at Sylvia's nails: perfect ovals slathered with blood-red polish and emblazoned with tiny black bats that flutter their wings every 5 seconds.  
  
The narrator gazed at her own nails: unpolished, stubby, chipped, surrounded by hangnails.  
  
She then shrieked at Sylvia for being a boring character and making this story into a cruddy mess, which scared the bats off the witch's nails and into a frenzied tornado of cute little black wings.  
  
Of course, at that very moment, for the first time in five months....  
  
The phone on Sylvia's desk rang.  
  
After gasping, flicking away wayward bats, and giving the disgruntled narrator a "See-I'm-Not-So-Boring-After-All" glare, the witch answered. "Yes this IS 1-800-RENT-A-WITCH!!! HOW may I help YOUUUU???" After listening for a moment, she responded, "Yes YES of COURSE! I'll just go check her calendar!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"  
  
Ignoring the retching narrator, Sylvia pushed the phone's HOLD button, then proceeded to count to twenty. She picked up the receiver. "You are in LUCK! Our BEST witch, HAGRELLA, is FREE TOMORROW!! Yes, yes YES, I'll have HER call YOU for the delicate arrangements RIGHT AWAY! Oh, ma'am, thank YOU for USING RENT-A-WITCH! HAVE A beee-aUtiful day!!!!" She hung up.  
  
The narrator and several of the bats had passed out from Sylvia's extreme use of exclamation pointage, so Sylvia left a message on Hagrella's voice mail and then, without further ado, draped a glittery black scarf around her neck. She was leaving early for a date --- no one at the office would care; they finally got a call!  
  
Humming, "I feel witchy, Oh so witchy, I feel witchy and wicked and meannnn!!", Sylvia left the room.  
  
****do your fingernails bother u??? Join the club!!!! Next chapter : the abandonment of two wicked children! Sorry for crappy chapter....am so tired~~! Send me some evil reviews!! 


	3. Sweet Picnic or Crafty Trick?

A/n: Could it ….be? Am I truly…….alive? And…..updating?

Let's find out together, shall we?

Disclaimer: I hate the movie the Blair Witch Project, but I felt its presence strongly in my mind as I wrote…..so that you understand when you come across the reference in here, Blair Witch paraphernalia, in case you haven't seen the movie, is anything creepy and or bloody and made out of sticks or piles of stones.

No humans or insects were harmed in the writing of this story.

CHAPTER THREE – In Which Evil Children Try To Be Crafty Yet Fail And The Author Exhibits A Rather Unique Slash Drug-Induced Utilization Of Vocabulary And Plot

The mother hopped around the kitchen floor, clutching at one foot with her hands and yodeling. No, she wasn't doing an ancient snow dance to ensure a bountiful gingerbread harvest. She was simply trying to get the children ready for a lunchtime outing in the Forbidforbodingden Forest.

But since getting ready for a picnic lunch involves ablutions that might be considered "normal", or "socially acceptable", Hansel and Gretel were having nothing to do with it. Well, nothing other than kicking the mother's foot so hard that her toes ran off into the sunset.

Hansel danced the victorious demon dance while Gretel squealed with glee. The mother's eyes glowed with malicious anger, but she restrained herself from attacking Hansel; he had the phone number for the Child Protective Services memorized. Although abuse had never occurred in the parent-to-child direction, he gave the CPS agency a ring every so often, just to make sure that the mother never left the crusts on his sandwiches again and that the father never moved from the Cowering Corner in the cellar.

The mother spoke. "HEAR ME NOW, DENIZENS OF-" she choked, coughed, and tried again. "Ahem. Children, please come out to the front pathway. Your father and I wish to take you on a little picnic to reward you for…." she frantically searched her mind for any good deed they had done in the past nine and a half years. "Um……not killing anything yesterday! Okay! Let's go!"

Gretel and Hansel (ha, you never see their names written in THAT order; chauvinistic fairy tale authors to blame) gave the mother identical shifty-eyed looks. She didn't often speak to them, and when she did, it was usually a garbled sort of shrieking.

Communicating solely by eye movements, they agreed to play along with this little game. If their parents were really trying to pull something, maybe Gretel and Hansel could FINALLY get them permanently incarcerated, thus fulfilling the children's greatest dreams. (They did not realize that, in truth, the mother and the father would rather be in a high-security prison than living in that hellhole of a home.)

They walked out the door obligingly. Of course, Gretel couldn't resist spitting on the mother's only remaining neckerchief as they passed. The mother's face contorted into a fascinatingly evil smile behind the children's backs. Only a few hours to go.

Outside, there were some interesting cumulus clouds blocking out the sun and creating a creepy semi-darkness. The father crawled towards the children in his position of ultimate submission. After what had happened last time he stood near them, he'd vowed never to do it again.

The…."family" set out together along the sandy path, into the deep, dark forest. Creepy music had started up in the background as the mother surveyed the surrounding trees, checking for Blair Witch paraphernalia. Nothing. She sighed, realizing that they were in for quite a walk. At least the Spawns of Satan were keeping themselves occupied, busily smashing every insect that crossed their path. (Note: as you will soon discover, killing insects will most definitely be harmful to your health. Don't forget these moralistic principles I'm pressing on you.)

A bird flying over the group looked down and laughed birdily. It wasn't every day that he saw a grown man crawling on the ground, glancing fearfully over his shoulder at two children with fire in their eyes, followed by a woman with a stained neckerchief and sunken eyes. Still chuckling, the bird looked far ahead over the treetops. It gasped, turned white, and swiftly turned around to fly in the opposite direction.

After about an hour and a half walk, the children had turned to gouging at their father's eyes for entertainment (okay, I know that this story is really violent and disturbing. I'm really a peaceful person, I just need to convey H and G's evilness. I apologize). His whimpering caused the mother to stop the group for some food.

She threw the picnic basket into the clutching claws of Gretel and Hansel and picked up the father, laying him over her shoulder.

Consumed by one of the seven deadly sins (gluttony, no duh), Gretel and Hansel were too busy stuffing their faces to notice as the mother subtly sprinted off into the woods, with the father in tow. (She was temporarily possessed by a superhuman strength, one so powerful that her feet actually left the ground during her escape. The father seemed to weigh almost nothing in her arms. She found her way home in record time and both the parents engaged in a dance of fierce glee, after which they fell into a stupor and lay on the grass for several days. Don't worry about them, the kind woodsmen living nearby made sure they were given medical care.)

It is the children you need to worry about now.

bwahahahahahaahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

A/n again: Sorry for shortness, descriptiveness, and violence. It is late and I am tired! If anyone still reads my stories, thank Nosilla for the posting. She forces me to find time to write (thanks!!! Here is a post finally I'm sorry it's so short  )

Be smart be safe my friends

I will really and truly write more soon, I want to punish the evil children now


	4. Chauvinsim and Sibling Schisms

A/n: Yes, I am here. And you're lucky to be here too. A few more hours and you would have been beyond our aid. (….for those of you who are confused: FotR).

Hokay. So. Play practice and homework tried to eat me but I fought back and FLIPPENDO! Here I am!

Disclaimer: Looking back over this chapter, I truly never meant for it to proceed in the direction that it took. I am not sorry, for punishment was necessary. But I AM afraid of myself, because I can't believe I wrote this.  
I must also say that fruit snacks are so damn good.  
Oh and the thesaurus claims that "hokum" is a synonym for candy. I don't believe it, but it fit my purposes.

CHAPTER FOUR - In Which The Consequences Of Chauvinism Are Discovered After Which A Lost Child Meets A "Friend" And An Aging Magical Being Loses A Hat

Gretel and Hansel dug deep into the picnic basket. As one last concession to their demonic wills, the parents had kindly included dishes from each food group of the twins' specialized food pyramid.

After eating their daily recommended servings of angelfood cake, fruit snacks, and small, furry animals, the two slumped onto the grass. They let out contented sighs and looked around with greedy eyes, burping.

"That was even worse fare than usual. Or so the parents think. Let's punish them when we get home," chuckled Hansel.

"Remember the noise the father made yesterday when we tied his beanie babies to the fan blades?" They laughed together, reminiscing about their happiest moments. When all your happiest moments have to do with torture, you should know that something unpleasant will be happening to you soon.

But Gretel and Hansel refused to listen to the kindly narrator, and continued to act like little shits.

"I know! Let's sneak up on the parents right now! Maybe we can make the mother's teeth fall out again!"

Hansel let out a shout of glee, then sobered. "…..did they mumble something about where they were going?" The two glanced around the clearing. It was sunny, colorful, and flowery. There were bright butterflies twuffling (yes, that's what butterflies do) in the air, and some cheerful background music was even twinkling in the distance.

Suddenly, the sun said, "Hasta la vista," flicked them off, and hid under the horizon. Their surroundings transformed into a dark, foreboding field with yellow eyes shining around its edges. The children felt utterly defenseless for the first time in their lives…

For a second. Gretel pulled a rifle out of her boot and shot haphazardly into the ring of trees around them. They high-fived, then laughed with bravado.

"Well, looks like we finally ditched those losers. Time to convert that dump of a cottage into the King Hansel Casino." Hansel kicked the picnic basket into a nearby stream.

Gretel frowned at him. "I thought we were going to call it the Queen Gretel Casino."

"Are you kidding? I only said that so you would shut up. Kings are SO much more powerful than queens." Hansel snorted derisively.

Gretel stepped closer, her voice dangerously soft. "What was that, dear brother?"

Carried away by his own stupidity, Hansel babbled on, not noticing the Cardinal Signs Of Impending Violence. "Everyone knows that MEN are more respected. Men rule over women. They're stronger and braver and don't CRY when their stupid pet SKUNKS get run over by their brothers' motorcyc…..eep….."

**.BANG.**

Gretel lifted the end of the rifle to her lips and blew away the smoke. Stepping over Hansel's twitching body, she walked into the darkness that was the Forbidforbodingden Forest.

Gretel strolled happily along under the darkening leaves. She was now alone in the world, a truly independent woman. Just the way she'd always wanted it. Plus, there was one less chauvinist walking among the living.

That casino plan had been small stuff, kept simple so that it didn't exceed Hansel's limited brainpower. Gretel had blueprints for something much larger….something which would guarantee world domination……something which would make "Gretel" a household word….

Her plotting was interrupted by a small squeaking sound. Looking around for its source, Gretel found a fuzzy, bucktoothed squirrel at her feet. She sighed. Ever since her beloved skunks Pepe and Pierre had met their…tragic…deaths, she'd had a soft spot for woodland creatures.

She managed to keep her soft spot from showing. "Fuck off. I've got better things to do than feed walnuts to a smelly rodent." The squirrel looked up at her trustingly, espousing Bambi eyes and a quivering smile.

Gretel melted. She was putty in its paws.

"…Just kidding. I love you now. Will you spend the rest of your days with me?" Gretel was prone to spontaneity at times but felt it made her interesting. The squirrel seemed to think so. It clambered up to her shoulder and hunkered down for the journey.

Gretel's smile widened. Not only had she killed an annoying male, she'd gained an animal friend. She squared her shoulders and continued down the path that would surely lead her home.

"MUAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!" A magnified evil laugh rang through the woods.

"What was that, Squirrel?" asked Gretel. The Squirrel shrugged, hiding a microphone behind its back and clearing its throat. She went back to skipping along the path.

Yes, thought Gretel, overall, it had been a fantastic day.

* * *

"This is the worst day of my life!" Hagrella snarled, chopping a dining table in two with an axe. "WHERE ARE THOSE CHILDREN?!?"

The fireplace mantel glanced at her haughtily. "There's no need to be so angry. They'll come along in time. Oh, do hurry up with that firewood. I feel a chill coming on, and who knows what might happen then…."

Hagrella threw gigantic slabs of graham cracker onto the dying flames. "For the last time, it's not wood! Because this stupid cottage is INSANE!"

She walked off into the center of the room, muttering to herself as sugary goo dripped onto her head from the ceiling. "Rent-a-witch calls with a new job….hadn't worked in ages…needed to pay off the frog mafia…so I said yes. Little did I know the job would consist of sitting in a HELLHOLE made of HOKUM with a HEINOUS fireplace, waiting for HOUR AFTER HOUR for fucking HANSEL AND GRETEL!"

"Please, madam, watch the profanity. The sugarpane windows are sensitive. That was lovely alliteration, by the way." The fireplace crackled away happily, high on graham cracker fumes.

Hagrella screamed and grabbed her broomstick. Stomping outside, she threw one leg over it and took off into the air, her prized pointy hat dropping off her head to land in Marshmallow Pond.

If the brats wouldn't come to her, she'd just have to come to them. She glanced mournfully down as the black point was sucked deep into the sticky ooze. Hat or no hat.

A/n: Hmmmm…..review, my chickens, or Gretel will hunt you down and add you to her trophy wall! (I am so creepy today…)


End file.
